


Good As Gold

by dreamerswaking



Series: It's No Big Deal [1]
Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Assassins & Hitmen, Feelings, Gen, He secretly has a heart, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Mentioned May Parker (Spider-Man), Mentioned Peter Parker, Mentioned Skip Westcott, Mercenaries, Revenge, Weasel is a businessman
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-19
Updated: 2019-12-19
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:42:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21857746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamerswaking/pseuds/dreamerswaking
Summary: Cops don't just walk into Sister Margret's Home for Wayward Girls. Until early one morning one does.- _ - _ - _ - _ -  OR - _ - _ - _ - _ -Sometimes being on the right side of the law feels wrong. Also some prices are worth paying no matter how high.
Relationships: Jack Hammer & Benjamin Parker, Jack Hammer & Wade Wilson
Series: It's No Big Deal [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1724836
Comments: 7
Kudos: 34





	Good As Gold

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is the first story I've written in almost eight years. It came to me as I was lying in bed, and even though I was super excited, I made myself sleep. It took awhile because I couldn't stop plotting my way through how this story might go. Then I woke up went downstairs and spent all day writing and reworking this.  
> Obviously if you've looked at the tags you will be able to guess what this is about fairly quickly. Most likely even before reading it. But I hope you enjoy it anyways. I'd love to hear what you think, especially since I'm so rusty.

The rain falling steadily outside was barely an audible hiss to the bartender as he righted stools and gave each table a cursory wipe. Although the place didn’t look like much, and honestly ranked lower than “dive” on the scale of bar classiness, it was safe to say it was his life. 

Set in the basement of a turn of the century brick and mortar, Sister Margret’s was not a reputable place to the common public. It was barely reputable to those who regularly walked through the doors. But walk through they did. There was no place else quite like it. 

Here the dregs of society gathered to drink their problems away. If they also picked up a little work, that was all the better. Although it was well known among all of New York City’s lower lifeforms and frequently saw bloodshed (much like the large stain currently being contemplated by the bartender) the bar rarely saw law enforcement. Sister Margret’s took care of it’s own and snitches got more than stitches here. 

That was why when the door opened to the shadowy visage of one of New York City’s finest the bartender momentarily froze. 

For a moment the two men stared at each other. The sound of the rain outside drummed more loudly in the stillness as the door hung open. Then an exhausted voice sighed, “Are you Weasel?”

For a moment the two just stared at each other each taking the other’s measure. After a moment the question was answered with a short nod. The bartender, now identified as Weasel motioned the officer towards the bar. Taking his place behind the counter Weasel grabbed a glass and a rag to keep his shaking hands busy as he forced his face to remain even. “How can I help you on this very early morning?” 

The officer looked at the clock on the wall and took note of the time. Just after 5 a.m.. Grimacing the man glared down at the bar top. His fists clenched together and it seemed to Weasel as though he was fighting some internal war. After a few moments in which Weasel debated reaching for the gun hidden beneath the bar, the officer seemed to come to a decision. All at once the tension went out of the man and his body seemed to almost tremble which was in sharp contrast to his voice as it came out calm and strong. “I need to put out a Gold Card.”

Weasel sucked in a breath through his slightly crooked teeth as he forced a laugh “You mean like a Mastercard? Buddy we take all forms of credit but it’s after 4 and I’m afraid that I can’t serve alcohol for a few hours yet. It’s against the law you know.”

The officer’s jaw clenched a moment, the muscle twitching in what Weasel seriously hoped was annoyance and not bloodthirsty rage, and then he raised his eyes to look directly into Weasels. “I know what you are and what you do here. I’m not here to mess around. I’m not wearing a wire. No one knows I’m here. I’m not even on duty yet. I came here because I need to put out a hit and I need you to tell me what it’s going to cost me besides my soul”.

It had only been about 5 minutes since the officer had entered the bar and Weasel only now took the time to really look at the man. The first thing he looked at, as he usually did when these situations came up, was the mans hands. He observed the wedding ring and some unusual colored splotches around his fingers. So he was married. It would be a little obvious, but not at all uncommon to put a hit on a spouse. The colored splotches looked like water color or markers so Weasel would guess he’s at least around a child. Man he hated when jobs involved kids. Maybe the officer was an artist?

Weasel allowed his eyes to travel over the man’s torso taking notice of the uniform that was well maintained. The officer’s badge and name tag gleamed in the low bar light. The man wasn’t bulky with muscles but was fit with the slightest give to his muscles that showed he might like to kick back on the weekends and enjoy a beer and a burger. Definitely not a health nut. Thank god. Those people were crazy.

Then he looked him in the face. He was surprised to see that the first thing he noticed was how kind his face looked and wasn’t that a kick in the teeth. It’s always the ones you don’t expect. The man was probably in his late 20’s maybe early 30’s. Soft brown hair was plastered to his skull from the rain, making it impossible to tell what color it would be when dry. Overall he was average looking if not edging slightly into handsome territory. Not a looker but not unpleasant by any means.

His eyes though were what made up his mind to at least hear the officer out. They were big and blue, they were also determined and unfortunately about to spill tears all over his filthy bar top.

“Lets pretend that that is indeed something that I facilitated. I would imagine that cost would depend on a number of factors. I mean who the target is could effect things greatly. Then there is the where. If someone rendering services were to need to travel there would additional expenses incurred. Also deadlines can really force the cost up. I mean if such a thing were sold I would imagine that priority placement could cost a pretty penny. But the biggest factor might be the how. Special requests could probably really drive up the price of something like what you are asking about.”

The man before him swallowed hard and rubbed a hand over his face knocking loose a few tears that he then angrily brushed away with his wet sleeve. It seemed a little counter productive and left his face wetter than before but who was Weasel to judge anyways. 

They sat in silence for several long moments before Weasel sighed and dropped a couple of glasses down between them. Turning slightly he pulled a cheap bottle of tequila off the shelf behind him. “I’m not selling this to you so it’s not illegal right? That’s what I’m going with. How about you drink this shot I’m pouring you, I’ll pour you another and you can pour your heart out. That will give me a better idea of what a person who does the things you think I do might charge anyways.”

The officers shoulders sagged in relief as he reached a shaky hand towards the drink and quickly brought it to his lips . He tilted his head back and did his best to suppress a shudder as the liquid slid down his throat.

“It’s all my fault.” he rasped out. Before roughly clearing his throat. “It’s my fault and I have to make it right. I just don’t know how.” He let out a shuddering half sob then and pulled out an old school handkerchief.

Weasel stared in disbelief. What even was his life. A handkerchief. He hated when people cried. Ugh. Pouring another shot he motioned the man towards it and he felt rather helpful as he stated “Start at the beginning.”

“The beginning. Right. “ He got a far off look in his eye for a moment before shaking his head and looking down at his wedding ring. “I always wanted kids, a large family, ya know? My brother was nearly 10 years older than me and I always wished I had more brothers or maybe even a sister to play with. Richie was always off playing with his friends and our parents worked late. I just wanted someone to be there with me. I was kinda an awkward kid and was alone a lot. 

I met my wife my junior year of high school she had dropped her bag on the floor and I quickly went to help. She thanked me and I think I fell a little then. I’d like to say we were high school sweethearts but she was so pretty and popular I don’t think she noticed me at all. It wasn’t until college that we got to know each other. We had Lit 107 together and she asked to borrow a pencil. It was so cheesy but when she returned it after class she had written her number on it in permanent marker. I called her up that night and 8 months later I proposed.”

Weasel struggled not to gag at the sappiness emanating from the man. He clearly loved his wife. So maybe she was cheating and he wanted to off the lover? That could be tricky. It would have to look like an accident or it could come back on a customer during an investigation. Jealous lovers and spouses were always suspects and considering the man’s employ internal affairs was nothing to mess with either.

“After we got married we wanted to take time to finish school. My wife wanted to be a nurse and I just wasn’t sure what I wanted to do. Well things got tight money wise and we had to make a decision. She had always dreamed of being a nurse and my only dream was to make her happy and to have a family with her. So I dropped out of school and went to the police academy so that we could have a more stable income and she could go to nursing school. Things worked out and soon things were going well enough that we decided we wanted to expand our family.” 

His voice choked up and he cleared his throat a few times, trying to fight back whatever emotion he was feeling. When his next words came out a little wet sounding Weasel poured yet another shot. This one for himself. He hated sad stories. Give him the angry violent ones any day. Alas, he had chosen to be a bartender and thus this was his own fault. It was a bartenders lot in life to listen to sad tales. He was sure it was a universal law written into the very cosmos.

“Only time passed and she couldn’t stay pregnant. She was constantly in pain and every failure hurt more than the physical. The doctors had her low on the priority list for in depth exams because she was young and healthy and she was getting pregnant even though she wasn’t able to stay pregnant. They just kept saying it would happen. Finally after her 5th miscarriage, and lots of pushing for the doctor to actually investigate, they found extensive scarring from Endometriosis. It was bad enough at that point that she was constantly in pain. After lots of discussion, the doctors took everything. It was a terrible time. We were angry and depressed. We almost didn’t make it. We started going to couples counseling and pulled through well enough that we were beginning to look at adoption when the next hardball hit.”

Here the man had to take another few steadying breaths as he fought against choking up. Weasel looked at the bottle and debated exactly how much free alcohol he was going to give this man. Maybe he was almost done with his sob story,but his gut told him that they had a ways to go and he might need the booze later. 

“That was when we got the phone call. Richie-” His voice cracked. He again roughly cleared his throat. “Richard, my b-brother and his w-ife had been in a plane crash. Child social services had picked up their kid from the sitter after they hadn’t come home from their trip. His wife was an only child and her parents were deceased long before they got married. Richie and I had lost our parents about 5 years before. This kid was all alone in the world except for my wife and I. Of course we took him in. We flew out to get him and to take care of arrangements. He was so small. Social services had us meet them at the police station. I can still see him sitting in an office at the local police station coloring. He was only 4. He kept asking when his Mom and Dad were coming to pick him up and he just didn’t understand at first. We’d only seen him a few times since he’d been born. We took him home and suddenly my wife and I had a new center of our world. We were practically strangers to the kid but I knew as I held him while he cried, as he finally realized his parents were never coming back, I knew that I’d do anything for him.”

The officer straightened up in his seat his badge catching the light. “Do you know what it’s like to fail in your duty. To fail your family? To fail your child? I promised myself that I would always take care of him. That I would put him and my wife first before everything.”

Weasel shivered under the intensity of the man’s stare. For a moment it was like there was no air in the room. No air in the world. Nothing but the hard stare from the suddenly ancient young man in front of him.Then the old barstool creaked under the officer and the spell was broken. The man seemed to fold in on himself. He waved his hand idly towards his empty glass and Weasel quickly filled it. Why oh why did the focus have to turn out be the kid. 

The glass before the officer was picked up with steady hands and the face studying the glass once again hardened in resolve before pounding back the shot.

“I had a responsibility. Living in the city is expensive. You have to work harder, work longer to make it. It’s so easy to get wrapped up in the money. Especially when you have a child as bright as ours. You just feel like they need more. You want to see how far they can go. He’s just so smart. I can hardly keep up with him. When other kids are running around playing cops and robbers my kid in inside reading textbooks written for high schoolers about chemistry, biology, mechanics, anything he can get his hands on. He doesn’t want to go to the playground. He’d rather be at the library or at the science museum. He’s 9 years old and he is a million times smarter and braver and kinder than me. Still he looks at me like I’m his hero, …even still. Even after I failed him. He still-”

The handkerchief is pressed over the mans face as he digs the heels of his hands into his eyes. There is a pit of dread building in Weasel’s stomach. A furious knot that is yanking his heart towards his stomach. He’s always been a bit squeamish. As much as he tries to hide it he’s honestly a bit too tender hearted. Sometimes. Mostly he’s a mean bastard. But sometimes… Like right now. He honestly isn’t sure he wants the rest of this story. But now he needs to know. He has to know. His eyes drift around the bar before settling on the darkened staircase leading to his loft apartment. He stares into the shadows a moment lost in the feeling of dread building within him before pulling out a bottle of the good stuff he keeps hidden away for himself.

The scotch glows a red amber in the dirty lighting as he pours two glasses. With an unprecedented amount of gentleness Weasel touches the mans arm holding the man steady as he jerks in surprise. The officer’s red rimmed eyes briefly flit towards his own then away as he flushes in a mixture of guilt and shame. Weasel stretches out his hand silently offering the amber draught. After a moment the man mops his face and takes the glass handed to him but doesn’t drink it. Instead he sets it on the bar in front of him. Cradled between his hands he stares at it intently.

There is silence in the bar. Nothing but the sound of breathing and Weasel realizes that at some point the rain had ceased falling. The quiet seems to almost build, pressing in on them until it’s almost deafening. Weasel can tell that the end is coming. He will have his answer, for better or worse.

Finally a whisper escapes the man. It starts thready but slowly the voice grows stronger as if poison is being leached from his very soul and expelled into the air. Weasel wonders if he’s told anyone else about the shame and the blame he carries. He thinks not. The officer seems the type that wants to hold strong for those he cares about.

“I was so happy when he made a friend. I knew he must have been lonely with just my wife and I. Sure he was older, but he treated my boy like a younger brother. He helped my boy with his experiments. He showed him what he was working on in school and my boy, my sweet boy, just blossomed. He was so happy to have someone to talk to. Someone who wasn’t a parental figure was telling him how smart, how great he was. They began to spend more and more time together. 

I was already working 2rd shift when my wife was suddenly scheduled regular double shift rounds at the hospital. That would have left our boy home alone after school until almost 10 p.m.. I tried talking to work but the soonest they could switch me to dayside was three weeks later. When his friend said he could watch him until we got home it was such a relief I didn’t think to question anything. They had been spending time together for a few months and I’d never seen my little boy happier. It seemed like a match made in heaven.

Then things started to change. I thought at first that he was getting quieter because he missed us. Whenever we were all home together he would just cling to us. Back when he first came to live with us he had constant nightmares about his parents leaving. When the nightmares started again he wouldn’t talk about them and I just assumed it was his abandonment issues coming back into play. I thought they would stop when I got my schedule switched. But they didn’t. They didn’t stop. They just kept getting worse and soon he was wetting the bed during his night terrors but he still wouldn’t say what they were about. He would just cling to me and cry and cry. I didn’t know what to do. I always wanted to be strong for him but one night I just broke down in the living room after I’d put him back to bed. I just couldn’t stop crying and then there was his little hands on my face as he climbed into my lap. Telling me ‘I love you Uncle. I love you. Why are you crying? It’s okay.’”

Weasel was sure if this story didn’t end soon he was going to cry and that just wasn’t allowed. The man in front of him was shedding quiet tears now. They slid silently down his cheeks and if you didn’t look at him you’d never know for how strong his voice was even in his devastation.

“My sweet boy was comforting me after he’d had another night terror. I knew I had to break through to him. We couldn’t keep on going this way. So I held him close and I told him how scared I was because I didn’t know how to help him. I told him how there was nothing he could tell me that would make me stop loving him and how I wished he would tell me what was wrong because I was so scared for him. He sat quietly on my lap and asked me to promise that I wouldn’t hate him. I told him ‘Never’. Then he did. He told me, and I wish to God that I had been shot through instead. 

I called the local precinct and had them send an officer over. I’m a cop. I believe in the law. I believe in justice and order. I believe in doing the right thing. I did everything by the book and now I don’t know what I believe. How can you do everything right and have evil come out on the winning side? The trial came and went and because there wasn’t ‘sufficient evidence’ that bastard walked.

He touched my little boy. He hurt him so badly that now he is scared of everyone who isn’t his aunt or I. I did things by the book and still my ledger is red. Now what I want to know is if you can help me blacken his name.” With that the officer gulped down his scotch and slammed the glass down hard enough a crack formed up the side.

The amount of fury in the man’s voice almost had Weasel stepping away. This was a man angry to his bones. A man dissolusioned with a world he used to believe in. A part of Weasel twisted in glee. THIS. This is why he did what he did. This is why he opened Sister Margret’s in the first place. As the officer finished his story something in him nearly purred in contentment. 

Weasel breathed shallowly, calm and steady as he took in the information given. It was a sharp contrast to the harsh pants of the devastated man before him. Weasel’s crooked teeth sucked in his bottom lip and worried it a little as he did the math and calculated Risk vs. Reward. Absentmindedly he tossed the cracked glass in the trash beneath the bar and poured the man a new glass before making his way to his computer.

A few minutes later he had hospital records, sealed court documents, police reports and the address of one ‘Steven Westcott’. Looking around the bar as he weighted the price the now drunk man in front of him would need to pay, he glanced again at the darkened stairwell, then nodded as he came to a decision. With a smile his finger came down and hit print. Moments later a shiny gold card lay in his palm as he approached the officer.

“There’s a first time for everything and I have to say I have never given any thought towards entertaining business with a cop, especially one that is as obviously righteous as you. I have a feeling this may also be the only time I make a deal with a good cop. But in answer to your question, yes, I can help you. But there’s a price. There’s always a price. In this case I’m sure it’s within your ability to pay. Just know. There is no going back from this. You sign this and you’re forever changed.”

Weasel watched the man sag with a mixture of relief and fear but he saw no hesitation. As he said there was no going back from this and this man had reached the edge of his morals sometime ago. Now he teetered and wobbled on the brink. 

When it came down to it Weasel was rather pleased.There was no haggling over the price, just a calm acceptance that made Weasel’s inner shark smile. A good business deal is the best way to start the day and he had a feeling this was going to be very profitable.

Moments later the back of the card was signed in agreement of the terms written and the officer slid off the stool and out of Sister Margret’s into the night.

Weasel slid the card to the corner of the bar as a figure exited the shadowy staircase. “Up for a job? It’s just your taste too.”

A red gloved hand picked up the card and read the name before flipping it over to read the reward. It slid easily into his pocket.

“One for me and one for you?”

“Of course.”

Two undetermined favors to be fullfilled at the owner of this card’s time of choosing. No holds. No bars.  
\- Officer Benjamin Franklin Parker N.Y.P.D.

**Author's Note:**

> So a few notes and things you may or may not have noticed!
> 
> In this story I made Ben the younger brother. In the comics he is the older brother. With this I was thinking a bit of the MCU. So I kept him younger. They screwed around with the timelines enough that I decided to do a bit of the same. Also if I do eventually write anything connecting to this story it may end up tied to the MCU at some points.
> 
> Also in the comics Ben was a trained Military Police officer and he was in a band. Super cool dude. I made him a boy in blue for this story. 
> 
> The comics never discuss what happened to Skip. They focus more on getting help as I think they should. I went with him getting away with it because it worked for the story and I enjoy the thought of him being murdered by deadpool.
> 
> I really wavered on whether to tag anyone besides Weasel and Wade. Obviously I wrote this keeping the Officer vague until the end. I like the idea of a surprise reveal but then I was torn. Firstly, I didn't want to be too shocking/triggery for people who may stumble upon this. Second, I also want people to be able to find this if they are looking for something similar. I can't tell you how many times I've run into that problem myself. 
> 
> If you think it would be better left as a complete surprise let me know and I can tinker with the tags. This is my first story I've ever posted on here and previously I had only posted to FFN.
> 
> Also I'm not sure if I will get inspired again like I did for this fic. (Honestly I couldn't stop writing. I sat at my computer from start until finish. I only got up once to get lunch and some water) However I LOVE the idea of a Mercenary-Adjacent Ben and I wouldn't be surprised if my brain forces another fic out of me. I also like the idea of Ben owing favors to Weasel and Wade. It could lead to some crazy Hijinks. 
> 
> There was a few scenes I plotted out in my head that just didn't make it into the story. There was one with May and Ben fighting/making up. And there was one with Deadpool breaking into the Parker's home and he meets little Peter. The last one was of Ben finding a tape on his desk at the precinct with an audio recording of Skip being tortured to death. I just didn't feel that they fit anywhere by the time that I was done writing/editing. 
> 
> Anyways, there's my afternotes. If you liked this or if there is something you think needs fixing please drop me a line or two or 50. Honestly it would make my day!


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